To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Last week, I started dreaming about sleep.  Those who know me and have heard me describe my more Technicolor dreams know that sleeping dreams are strange, even for me. 

After sharing my dream with my astute co-worker, he asked,

“Does that mean you’re doubly rested for having slept twice?”

Rested is not a word I would use to describe the past twenty plus years of my life. 

When Madison was a baby, I put two scoops of formula between two slices of bread for his 3 a.m. feeding. Lucky for him, I realized my mistake halfway up the stairs—it’s no wonder he loves carbs as much as he does. 

Thankfully, I don’t have insomnia; in fact, I think I may have the opposite.  It’s almost unnatural how quickly my body succumbs to sleep.  Sleep for me occurs sometime during commercial breaks.  As soon as my eyes glide shut, my mouth falls open. 

Sometimes sleep occurs mid-peanut butter sandwich and is discovered only by its fossilized remains when I make the bed the next morning.  For me, sleep is not illusive.  Once my body stops moving, my mind isn’t far behind. 

But for now, extended slumber is not meant to be.  This past weekend, my alarm clock sounded to the unmistakable ring of thousands of Legos being dropped to the floor, sometime around 6:30. 

The first avalanche I ignored.

The fourth expelled me from dreamland.

As I assessed Max atop his mountain of mess with a steaming diaper of excrement, I could only shake my head and wander down to the comfort of my coffee pot.  

As I passed Madison and Stancey’s room, I felt twinges of jealousy as I heard their duet of slumber from opposite sides of the hallway.  Madison’s soliloquy persevered until early afternoon.

Later, when I cleaned up the mess from Max’s early morning, I began to analyze my dream of sleep.  I’ve read that sleep in dreams is a sign of contentment.  Whoever thought up that one obviously wasn’t the mother of six, because I have my own analysis. 

I’m guessing that my sleep bank is overdrawn and it’s going to take more than one night of uninterrupted slumber a week to yank me out of the red. Realistically, Max is at least a decade away from reaching the sleep stamina of his siblings.

And until then, I’ll try and not analyze my dreams too much. 

And who knows, this weekend may just be the weekend.  And if it isn’t, at least I have my coffee pot to console me.